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Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of In the brush
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
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Title: In the brush

or, Old-time social, political, and religious life in the
southwest

Author: Hamilton W. Pierson

Illustrator: William Ludwell Sheppard

Release date: April 12, 2024 [eBook #73379]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: D. Appelton and Company, 1881

Credits: Sonya Schermann, Graeme Mackreth and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE

BRUSH ***
 IN THE BRUSH;
OR,

OLD-TIME SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND RELIGIOUS

LIFE IN THE SOUTHWEST.

BY

REV. HAMILTON W. PIERSON, D.D.,

EX-PRESIDENT OF CUMBERLAND COLLEGE, KENTUCKY;
AUTHOR OF "JEFFERSON AT MONTICELLO";
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY,
ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W.L. SHEPPARD.

NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

1, 3, and 5 BOND STREET.

1881.
 COPYRIGHT BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

1881.
 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
Why I relate my experiences in the
I.— 1
Southwest. Introductory
II.— My outfit for my life in the Brush 12
The itinerant pioneer preacher's faithful
III.— 35
horse
IV.— Old-time hospitality in the Southwest 47
V.— Old-time basket-meetings in the Brush 60
The baptism of a Scotch baby in the wilds of
VI.— 82
the Southwest
Barbecues, and a barbecue wedding-feast in
VII.— 90
the Southwest
The old, old book, and its story in the wilds
VIII.— 103
of the Southwest
Candidating; or, old-time methods and
IX.— 130
humors of office-seeking in the Southwest
Some strange experiences with a candidate
X.— 156
in the Brush
Experiences with old-time Methodist circuit-
XI.— 171
riders in the Southwest
XII.— Heroic Christian workers in the Southwest 193
XIII.— Strange people I have met in the Southwest 204
XIV.— Old-time illiterate preachers in the Brush 238
"Ortonville"; or, the universal power of
XV.— 278
sacred song
XVI.— Work accomplished in the Southwest 294
IN THE BRUSH.
 CHAPTER I.
WHY I RELATE MY EXPERIENCES IN THE SOUTHWEST.—
INTRODUCTORY.
On a visit to New York, many years ago, after the first few months of
my ministerial labors in the wilds of the Southwest, I met a warm
personal friend, a genial, generous, noble Christian woman, who at
once said to me:
"And so you are a Western missionary. Well, do tell me if anything
strange or funny ever did happen to a missionary. Mother has taken
the home-missionary papers ever since I was a child, and I always
read them; and I often wonder if anything strange or funny did ever
happen to a Western missionary."
I had recently spent three happy years in the Union Theological
Seminary in that city, and had come back to attend the heart-stirring
anniversaries, held in those days in the old Broadway Tabernacle,
and to meet again the many friends who had followed me in my
labors with their kind wishes and their prayers. Though nearly thirty
years have passed since I received that greeting, I have never
forgotten, and have very often recalled it. And I have as often
thought that it was most natural that the churches and people at
large who send forth and sustain the heroic laborers who are toiling
in the varied departments of Christian effort in our newer States and
Territories, should desire a much fuller account of their daily lives
and labors. As many of them travel extensively, and see pioneer
border-life in all its aspects and phases, I have thought it most
natural and reasonable that the people should desire to know more
of their adventures; more of their contact with the rough, whole-
souled people with whom they so often meet and mingle; more of
that strange compound of energy, recklessness, and daring, the
hardy hosts who erect their log-cabins and fell the forests in the van
of our American civilization, in its triumphant westward march. Only
one day in seven is set apart as sacred time, and only a few hours of
that day are devoted to what are generally regarded as spiritual
duties. A description of these duties alone, whether performed on
Sabbath-days or week-days, is a very inadequate description of
missionary life as a whole. In order to perform these duties, a man
must eat and drink, take care of his body, mingle with the world, and
meet all his responsibilities as a man and a citizen.
In the pages that follow it will be my purpose to present a portraiture
of ministerial life in the wilds of the Southwest, in all its aspects and
phases, exactly as I found it. I shall attempt to portray week-day life
as well as Sunday life. I shall describe scenes of wonderful and
thrilling religious interest, and the most common and homely
incidents of every-day life, and, as far as possible, give an idea of my
life as a whole. I shall attempt to describe the politicians, preachers,
and people; the country in which they live, their manners and
customs, their barbecues, basket-meetings, and weddings, and all
the peculiarities of their open, free, and genial home-life in its social,
political, and religious aspects and relations. In this I shall be
successful only so far as I succeed in perfectly describing their life
and my own during the many years that I mingled with them.
My lady friend and questioner, to whom I have referred, was slightly
mistaken in calling me a "missionary." I was not one in name. At the
time of my graduation from the Theological Seminary, I was under
appointment as a missionary of the American Board of
Commissioners for Foreign Missions to West Africa; but
hæmorrhages from my lungs prevented my entrance upon that work.
After extended travels by sea and land for nearly five years, I had so
far recovered my voice as to be able to preach, and was very
anxious to be about my chosen life-work. But my physicians—Dr.
Gurdon Buck, Dr. Alfred C. Post, and Dr. John H. Swett, of the
University Medical College—as kind as they were distinguished and
skillful, told me that I would never be able to perform the duties of a
settled pastor; that the study, labor, and care of such a life would
completely break down my health in a very few months. They told
me that I must engage in some labor that would give me a large
amount of exercise in the open air; and that if it involved horseback-
riding it would be all the better for my health, and probably give me
more years in which to labor. I accordingly accepted an agency from
the American Bible Society, which involved the exploration on
horseback of the wild regions in the Southwest described in this
volume. In addition to very extended travels by steamboat up and
down many of the larger and smaller Southwestern and Southern
rivers, I have ridden a great many thousand miles on horseback—I
have no means of telling how many. For a long time I rode my horse
several thousands of miles yearly. Bishop Kavenaugh, of the
Methodist Episcopal Church, South, in introducing me, as an agent
of the American Bible Society, to a Southwestern conference over
which he was presiding, told them that, "although a Presbyterian," I
had "out-itinerated the Itineracy itself."
I spent a night with the Governor of a Southwestern State, at the
house of his sister, who was the wife of an Episcopal clergyman. We
lodged in the same room, occupying separate beds, as was very
common in that region. The Governor was genial and social, and we
conversed until long after midnight. We talked of the hills, valleys,
and mountains, of families and communities, of the customs,
manners, and peculiarities of different classes of people, over a very
wide portion of the State. As I was about to leave in the morning, the
Governor said to me:
"Sir, you know more about this State, and more people in it, than any
man I ever saw."
I replied: "I am surprised, Governor, to hear you make that
statement. I know that politicians canvass the State most thoroughly;
that you are expected to make speeches in every county, and in as
many neighborhoods as possible; and that you try to shake hands
with as many as you can of those that you expect and wish to vote
for you. As you were born and educated in the State, and have
canvassed it so thoroughly and successfully, I supposed that you
knew a great deal more about it, and a great many more people in it,
than I do."
"I do not," he replied, very positively, "and I never saw a man in my
life who did."
I state these facts as my reason and justification for writing this book;
that my readers may understand that I am not a novice in regard to
the things whereof I write; that I know whereof I affirm. Indeed, I will
tell them confidentially that I have obtained a "degree," one not so
easily acquired as some others, and more honored in the wilds of the
country. It is "B.B.," and means Brush-Breaker. The exposition of the
full meaning of this "degree" will explain the origin and meaning of
my title to this book.
In attending a conference, presbytery, association, or other
ecclesiastical meeting in the wilds of the country, as the old veteran
and other preachers were pointed out to me by some friend, he
would say:
"That is Father A——. He is an old Brush-Breaker"—and all the
younger men would press forward to shake his hand and do him
honor; or, "That is Brother B——. He has broken a right smart
chance of brush"; or, "That is young Brother C——, wonderfully self-
satisfied and conceited, as you see. The sisters have flattered him
so much that he has got the 'big head' badly. He will be sent to Brush
College, to break brush a year or two, and will come back humbled,
and will make a laborious and useful man"; or, "That is our devoted
and beloved young Brother D——. His soul is all on fire with love for
his Master, and he will thank God for the privilege of going anywhere
in the Brush to preach and sing of Jesus and his salvation."
This use of the word Brush enters largely into the figures of speech
of the people of the Southwest. On one occasion I heard a Methodist
bishop preach on a Sabbath morning to a very large congregation,
composed of the Conference, the people of the village, and the
visitors in attendance. During the first half of his sermon, which was
extemporaneous, he did not preach with his accustomed clearness
and power. His thoughts were evidently very much confused, and it
was rather painful than otherwise to witness his struggle to get the
mastery of his mind and subject. But he accomplished this at length,
and closed his sermon with great power and effect. In returning from
church, a young circuit-rider said to me:
"Didn't you think the Bishop got badly brushed in the first part of his
sermon? I sometimes get so brushed in my sermons that I think I will
never try to preach again. It's a comfort to a beginner to know that an
old preacher sometimes gets brushed."
Figurative language of this kind abounded among the people of the
Southwest, and was very expressive. These provincialisms had
usually grown out of the peculiar life and habits of the people. Many
of them seem to have originated in the perils of early flat-boat
navigation—when they were accustomed to float down-stream by
daylight, and tie up to some stump or tree for the night! Woe betide
the cargo, boat, and crew, if that to which they had "made fast" failed
them in the darkness of the night! Hence, as I suppose, this
provincialism.
If I made inquiries in regard to the character of a man who had been
recommended to me for a Bible distributor, I was not told that he was
a reliable or an unreliable man, but, "He'll do to tie to," or "He won't
do to tie to"; and if the case was particularly bad, "He won't do to tie
to in a calm, let alone a storm." As there were so many perils in this
kind of navigation, those were regarded as extremely fortunate who
reached their destination in safety, and could send back word that
they had made the trip; hence, "to make the trip" was a universal
synonym for success. And so, when a novice attempted to make a
speech, preach a sermon, address a jury, or engage in any kind of
business, the people predicted his success or failure by saying, "He'll
make the trip," or "He won't make the trip." They never said of a
young man, or an old widower, that he was addressing or courting a
lady, but, "He is setting to her," a figure of speech derived from bird-
hunting with setter-dogs, as I suppose. When such a suit had been
unsuccessful, they did not say the lady rejected or "mittened" her
suitor, but, "She kicked him." The first time I ever heard that figure
used was at a social gathering in Richmond, Virginia, in 1843, where
the belle of the evening was a Miss Burfoot. After being introduced to
her by a friend, he told me confidentially that she had recently
"kicked" Mr. H——, a gentleman present, to whom he had already
introduced me. To be "kicked" by a Burfoot seemed to me a more
than usually striking figure. When many persons were striving for the
same object, or where there were rival aspirants for the heart and
hand of the same lady, they said of the successful one, "The tallest
pole takes the persimmon."
I was once present at an ecclesiastical meeting in the Brush, where
motions of different kinds were piled upon each other, until the
greatest confusion prevailed as to the state of the question before
the body, and the moderator was appealed to to give his decision in
the matter. I did not fully comprehend his decision, but it was clear
and satisfactory to the body over which he was presiding, all of
whom, like himself, were old and experienced hunters. Arising to his
feet, as became a presiding officer thus appealed to, and lifting his
tall, lank form until his head was among the rafters of the low log
school-house, he hesitated a moment, and then said, "Brethren, my
decision is that you are all ahead of the hounds."
These are but specimens of the figurative language—the
provincialisms—that abound among the people of the Southwest.
I do not, therefore, in the pages that follow, speak of my travels in the
"wilderness" or "forests" or "hills" or "mountains" of the Southwest,
but adopt a more comprehensive term, universally prevalent in the
regions explored, and describe some of my experiences in the
Brush.
Though I commenced my labors in the South as a general agent and
superintendent of the colporteur operations of the American Tract
Society in 1843—ten years before my first visit to the Southwest—
though I became acquainted with its home-life, as that life could only
be learned, by such extended horseback travels, and such religious
labors, prosecuted with all the energy and all the enthusiasm of early
vigorous manhood, I shall devote this volume to descriptions of
home-life in the Southwest. My reasons for this will be obvious and
approved at a glance. Very little that would be new can now be
written of the old-time home-life in the South. The fascinating and
beautiful descriptions of Southern social life given us in the letters of
Hon. William Wirt, the distinguished Attorney-General of the United
States, in his "British Spy"; the full and minute biographies of
Washington, Jefferson, Patrick Henry, and others, so exhaustive of
every feature of this life; with the matchless descriptions of the
inimitable Thackeray, and other later writers, leave very little to be
said in illustration of this theme. But the true, the real old-time social,
political, and religious home-life of the people of the Southwest is
almost unknown to the great mass of the American people.
Comparatively little has been written which is the result of extended
personal contact with, and intimate personal knowledge of, the
people. They have been largely the subjects of exaggeration and
caricature.
In this field I have garnered many rich and golden sheaves, where
no other reaper had ever thrust in the sickle. Here I have drawn
word-pictures of many scenes in the social life of a generation, and a
state of civilization, rapidly passing away, never to reappear, that
otherwise would have had no memorial only as perpetuated in the
traditions of the people. I will only add that I am indebted to no
library, to no book, not even to a newspaper, for a single fact
presented in this volume. They were all gathered incidentally while
laboriously engaged in the duties of my profession, as a general
agent of the American Bible Society, and while traveling for years in
the interests of the college over which I was called to preside. They
all relate to the ante-bellum period in the history of our country.
 CHAPTER II.
MY OUTFIT FOR MY LIFE IN THE BRUSH.
Having received my commission as an agent for the American Bible
Society, and completed my preparations for entering upon my work
as far as I could do so in New York, I left that city for one of the
important cities of the Southwest, which was to be my headquarters.
I knew at the outset that I could not reach the wild regions I was to
explore by railroad, steamboat, stage, or even with my own private
conveyance; I knew that I could climb hills and mountains, follow
blind bridle-paths, ford rivers and swollen streams, only on
horseback. I had several years before had some two years'
experience in constant horseback travel in labors similar to those I
was now entering upon, as superintendent of the colporteur
operations of the American Tract Society in Virginia. There I had
floundered in the marshes and swamps of "Tidewater," and been lost
amid the rugged rocks and dense forests high up the sides and in
the loftiest summits of the Blue Ridge and other mountains. I knew
that I must have a horse. This was indispensable. More than that, I
wanted a good horse, a horse broken expressly for the saddle. To be
churned for years—bump, bump, bump—upon a hard-trotting horse,
that was out of the question with me. I had but a small stock of
health and physical strength at best, and none to spare in that way.
My old friend Rev. Dr. Sprole, then of Washington, D.C., afterward of
West Point, New York, and now of Detroit, Michigan, used to tell me,
in Washington, that "Brother Leete," one of my co-workers in the
circulation of the publications of the American Tract Society, "was
one of the most self-denying Christians he had ever seen—in that he
had patience to drive such a miserable old horse in transporting his
books over the hills and mountains of Pennsylvania," where he had
known him. But I was not anxious to illustrate that particular type of
piety. I did not care to let my "light so shine." I wanted not only a
good saddle-horse, but a faithful, reliable animal. I wanted one that I
could hitch to the limb of a tree, in the midst of scores or hundreds of
other horses, and leave there without any concern, while I preached
in a log meeting-house, or at a "stand" erected in a grove at some
cross-roads, or at a camp-meeting, or wherever else I should be able
to meet and address the people. I wanted a hardy horse, that could
live on the coarsest food, and stand during the coldest nights in log
stables that afforded but a little more protection from the wind and
cold than a rail fence. I wanted an easy-going, fleet horse, that would
take me, without great personal fatigue or needless waste of time,
over a wide extent of country. I wanted a horse that would scare at
nothing—that, as I had opportunity, I could lead up a plank or two, on
board a noisy stern-wheel or other Western steamer, along the
banks of the rivers, across wharf-boats, or wherever I might wish to
embark for a hundred miles or more to save a few days of horseback
travel.
The "qualities" that I looked for in a horse were numerous and rare. I
was so fortunate as to find one that possessed all that I have
enumerated and many more. Was I not fortunate? Was I wrong in
regarding my good fortune as a special providence? But I did not
easily find this treasure. It was after a long search and many failures.
Unable to find such a horse as I was willing to purchase at once, I
determined to enter upon my work and get along for a time as best I
could.
I therefore took stage for a point about fifty miles from headquarters,
where, after a conference with the officers of the County Bible
Society, I procured a horse for several days in order to plunge into
the Brush, make a circuit of the county, and preach at a number of
places in accordance with a programme that their familiarity with the
country enabled them to make out for me. They arranged to send my
appointments ahead to all these points but one, where I was to
preach the next day, which was the Sabbath.
I will here state that the great object of my mission to the Brush was
to effect a thorough exploration of the field assigned to me, and,
either by sale or gift, supply every family with a copy of the Bible,
except such as positively declined to receive it. To accomplish this, I
wished to gain personal knowledge of each county, to preach at as
many points as possible, in order to give information in regard to the
character and operations of the American Bible Society and the work
to be done, collect as much money as possible to meet the
expenses of this work, find and employ suitable men to canvass the
counties and visit without fail every family, and then order a supply of
Bibles and Testaments from the Society's house in New York, give
them their instructions, and set them at work. Such was my mission.
Saturday, after dinner, I mounted my horse for a ride of thirteen miles
to a small county-seat village where I was to spend the Sabbath. The
country was rough and broken, with light, sandy soil, sparsely
covered with small, scrubby oak-trees, called "black-jacks," and the
region of country was known as the "Barrens." It was barren enough.
The houses were mostly poor and comfortless, the barns small log
structures, with no stables, sheds, or covering of any kind for the
cattle. They were poor and scrawny, and their backs described a
section of a semicircle as they drew themselves into as much of a
heap as possible—their only protection against the bleak February
winds. The swine were of the original "root-hog-or-die" variety, their
long, well-developed snouts being their most prominent feature.
Occasionally black, dirty, ragged slaves—"uncles," "aunties," and
their children—revealed the whites of their eyes and their shining
ivory as they stared earnestly at the rare sight of a passing stranger.
No one, with the kindest heart and the most amiable disposition,
would be able to pronounce the country attractive or the ride a
pleasant one. On arriving at the village, I rode to a very plain house
to which I had been directed, and received a most warm and cordial
welcome. Large pine-knots were soon blazing and roaring in the
ample fireplace to relieve me of the most wretchedly disagreeable of
all sensations of cold—those of a damp, clammy, chilly winter day in
the Southwest. As soon as it could possibly be prepared, I was
seated with the family at a bountiful supper. The aroma of the richest
coffee was afloat in the air, and the rarest of fried chicken and hot
corn-bread were smoking before me, flanked with a superabundance
of other dishes, that showed the perfect country housekeeper.
My host and hostess were Presbyterians, and this was the reception
they gladly gave to any minister who visited them in their seclusion,